Margaret stood at the bottom of the curved staircase, her hand resting on the polished banister.

She wore a black knit suit, but her hair was less perfect than usual, a few gray strands escaping her pin.

“This is private property,” Margaret said, her voice shaking slightly despite her upright posture.

“Not anymore, Mrs. Mercer,” Lena said, stepping forward.

She drew a document from the folder and held it out.

“The civil foreclosure is finalized. The deed has officially reverted to Whitaker Family Capital.”

Margaret did not reach for the paper.

Lena placed it on the mahogany console table near the door.

“You have thirty days to vacate the premises,” Lena said. “All personal effects must be removed by five o’clock on the final evening.”

Margaret’s face went pale, the color draining from her lips.

“Thirty days,” she repeated. “This house has been in our family for three generations.”

“Thirty days was the standard you set,” I said, looking at the painting of her late husband on the wall.

“I am simply giving you the same consideration you gave me when you wrote that letter.”